I have thrown into the recycling bin many half-filled notebooks in favor of something shiny new and blank. But there is one diary I will never throw away.
I have never let anyone see this diary. It shames me and it pains me.
All my life I’ve known I was going to be a writer. That is not quite true. From age four to eight I was certain that I was going to be a veterinarian. From age nine to 12, I knew without a doubt that I was going to be an Egyptologist.
But writing always lurked in the background of my life, like a mysterious aunt who was rarely discussed at family gatherings but from whom I always received gifts on my birthday.
I wrote poetry. Some of it was even published in college journals and magazines. But I didn’t really get serious about writing until I was well into my 20s.
Still with all this writing I have never been able to keep up a daily journal as so many writing instructors have counselled me to do. I lose interest in myself. I have thrown into the recycling bin many half-filled notebooks in favor of something shiny new and blank.
But there is one diary I will ne…